Into Temptation
by everytimeyougo
Summary: You know you wouldn’t be able to resist if I decided to seduce you. House/Cameron
1. Chapter 1

**Into Temptation, Chapter 1 **

**A/N: Thanks to my fab beta athousandsmiles! The best bits are thanks to her. The mistakes are all mine.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own House, Cameron or any other fictional doctors.**

The car idles at the curb, headlights illuminating the dark and windswept street. Drops of condensation form and slide down the insides of the car windows. They've been sitting this way for far too long. Chase faces straight ahead, arms rigid, hands gripping the steering wheel. He stares at the wipers swishing the driving rain to and fro across the foggy windshield. Cameron watches him, frustrated by his sullenness, but holding her tongue so as not to make things worse. She's been doing that a lot lately it seems. She rests her head against the headrest as she tries to come up with the magic words that will end this silent standoff. But there just aren't any. Or at least none she's prepared to say. _Chase, I'm sorry. (But I haven't done anything.) Chase, I love you. (I'm trying to love you.) Chase, please look at me. (I can't do this anymore.)_ Her fingernails make small crescent-shaped dents in her palms and she considers just giving up and getting out.

Before she can, at last he speaks. "Well? Are you going in? I'd like to get home some time tonight." When she turns her head to face him, she can see his eyes following the wipers. Back and forth, back and forth, like he's mesmerized. He still won't look at her.

"Chase, stop this. Please. Cuddy asked me to come here as a personal favour to her. I had no choice."

"Oh, you had a choice. Babysitting him is no longer in your job description." He laughs humourlessly. "It never was, believe it or not."

"I know that!" she practically shouts in her frustration, startling him into finally turning his head in her direction. She takes a deep, cleansing breath and continues. "It's not my job. I know that. But my boss, _our boss_, decided that it is. What else can I do? And I still don't see why you're so upset about it. It's just paperwork. I've helped him catch up countless times before and you didn't care."

"Right. At the hospital. Not at his house in the middle of the night. It's inappropriate!"

She stares at him. Opens her mouth. Closes it and opens it again. "You still don't trust me," she says finally. "I don't believe it. This is just...just...beyond ridiculous! When are you going to get over this crazy inferiority complex? I don't want House. He doesn't want me. I'm here to work and the _only_ reason I'm doing it here and now instead of at the hospital is because of some stupid power play between him and Cuddy. It's bad enough being caught in the middle of the two of them without you making it worse!" With that she grabs her laptop bag and slams out of the car, rushing through the deluge to the meagre shelter offered by the doorway of House's building.

The car squeals and roars away into the night, but she doesn't look back before wrenching the door open and entering the building.

* * *

He's startled out of a dead sleep by an obnoxious knocking on his apartment door. For a moment he's confused, unable to reconcile the loud, masculine banging with the slight, feminine visitor he's expecting. Did he order food before falling asleep? Shaking his head to clear the last remaining cobwebs, he rises and limps toward the door, right hand pushing hard against right thigh. Just as he reaches the door, it bursts open and a very wet Cameron appears, almost crashing into him. "Why knock if you're just going to barge in," he starts to whine before switching courses when he registers the state she's in. He eyes her up and down. Her blond hair is plastered to her head and it drips down into her face and onto her leather jacket. The legs of her dark washed jeans are damp and her black high-heeled boots are splattered with mud. He decides she's never looked hotter; she should walk around soaked all the time. "Oh look, my own personal wet t-shirt contest," he jokes. "Little tip though, next time take off the jacket before they dump the water over you."

"Shut up, House." she growls, stripping off her wet jacket and hanging it off the doorknob.

He turns and limps back to the sofa, throws himself down and reaches for the television remote. "Ooh, cranky. What, are you on the rag?"

"No, I'm not on the rag," she repeats, mimicking his insulting tone. "I'm wet, I'm pissed off and I think I'm getting a cold." As if to punctuate her diagnosis, she sneezes. "Can we please just get this over with? You, not talking, would be a big help. And don't you dare turn on the damned television."

He makes a big show of setting the remote back down on the table. "Yeah yeah. Look, I'm not any happier about this than you are, but we're stuck with each other. So how 'bout _you_ shut up and go get me a beer."

Muttering random curses under her breath, she drops her bag beside the sofa and stalks off to the kitchen, returning a few seconds later carrying two bottles of beer in one hand and blotting her damp hair with a paper towel. She sets one bottle on the table in front of him, with slightly more force than is strictly necessary, and sits down. She twists off the cap of her bottle and takes a large, rather unladylike gulp.

He watches her from the corner of his eye as she sets the bottle down and then combs her fingers through her drying hair. He knows from Cuddy that she's not thrilled about being forced to come here, but even so, he's puzzled by her attitude. The Cameron he knows doesn't take bullshit from anyone, not even him, but she's usually cool and unruffled while she's not taking it. This blatant bitchiness is out of character. It intrigues him.

"I'm sure I'm going to regret asking this, but what the hell's the matter with you?" he questions. "I know you think me godlike, but I assure you I'm not responsible for the weather, so there's no reason to take it out on me. Have you never heard of this nifty new invention called an umbrella? You hold it over your head and it keeps the rain off. All the cool kids have one."

She glares at him before leaning over and reaching for her computer bag. "I know what an umbrella is, House. And while you may not have caused the rain, it is most assuredly your fault that I was out in it in the first place. Again, can we please just get this over with? Where's your laptop?" She stands and starts for his desk.

He reaches out and grabs her wrist to stop her. If he hadn't already noticed how worked up she was, the fluttering of her pulse against his fingers would have given her away. "Whoa, slow down. You haven't seen me in awhile; why spoil this lovely reunion with work? Anyway, a few years ago you would've been thrilled at the prospect of spending a whole evening with me."

She yanks her arm away from him. "A few years ago I was an idiot. And I didn't have a boyfriend who doesn't trust me to be alone in the same room with you. And you were slightly more tolerable company back then. What the hell's the matter with you anyway? Refusing to go to work? And what the hell's the matter with Cuddy for lusting after you instead of just firing your ass?"

He frowns at her. Something is obviously wrong. It's not like her to leave him with so many openings to jab. Not these days anyway. There are so many parts of what she just said that need addressing that he doesn't know where to start. But it would be very unlike _him_ to just leave it alone, so after mentally tossing a coin, he goes for the obvious.

"Chase doesn't trust you to behave around me. Kid's smarter than I gave him credit for," he says.

"What?" she demands. "That's bullshit! He has no reason not to trust me, with you or anyone else. I'm not a cheater!"

He shrugs. "Maybe not under normal circumstances, but we both know how you feel about me. Stuck here with me, alone, all night, you know you wouldn't be able to resist if I decided to seduce you."


	2. Chapter 2

**Into Temptation, Chapter 2**

Her jaw drops and the angry retort she'd been planning to spit at him dies on her tongue. She's completely flummoxed. Where on earth did that come from? What the hell is she supposed to say now? But he's looking at her so she'd better say _something_. She opens her mouth to vehemently deny his accusation, but luckily before anything emerges that could be construed as _the_ _lady doth protest too much_; she notices the slight tug on one side of his mouth and the gleam in his eye that seem to indicate he's pulling her leg.

She rolls her eyes instead. "Right. Well, we both know that's not going to happen, so I guess neither Chase, nor I, have anything to worry about." She moves again to retrieve his laptop from his desk, but his voice, low and sexy behind her, stops her in her tracks.

"You don't think?" he asks and she starts to wonder if maybe she imagined the quirk in his lips because he sounds dangerously serious now.

Her stomach flips over and she's glad she's facing away from him because the look on her face would surely have given away her panic. "Let's just get to work, okay?" she says, wincing when her voice comes out unnaturally high-pitched. Continuing to his desk, she grabs the laptop and returns to the couch, being careful to sit as far away from him as she can without being obvious about it. She slides his laptop along the coffee table until it rests in front of him. "Here," she says. "Log in to your hospital account and email all your notes to me. I'll organize them and then update the patient records." She unzips her laptop bag, preparing to pull out her own computer.

"No."

Her eyes narrow. "No?" she repeats, hands frozen on the black vinyl bag.

"No. Or as they say in certain parts of Belize: No. I don't wanna."

"House!" she exclaims, feeling her earlier annoyance returning with a vengeance. She straightens up and glares at him. "I'm not here for my health, you know. And I don't have time for your stupid games. Just email me your damned notes so I can do my, or rather _your_, job. Then I'll leave you alone and we can both get on with our weekends."

"Exactly. If I cooperate, you'll leave." He picks up his bottle and leans back against the couch, putting his feet up onto the coffee table - right on top of his laptop, to be precise. "I don't want you to leave. I want you to watch a movie with me." He cracks open his beer and takes a swallow.

"What!" Her eyes widen in surprise. "And why, may I ask, would I want to do that?"

"Because Wilson's busy and I need someone to make me popcorn and get me beer from the fridge and you're useful like that. You got something better to do?"

She thinks back to the scene in the car and sighs. "No, I guess I don't. If I watch one movie with you, then can we get some work done?"

He smirks and gestures toward the DVD player. "Only one way to find out."

She can't help herself. She smiles at him. The sight of him sitting there on his couch with that smug look on his face, as if he knows he has her, is so achingly familiar that the little grin appears on her lips without her consent. Not familiar in the sense that she's been here in this situation before, because she hasn't. Not even close. In fact, the few times previously that she'd been in his home were under much more extreme circumstances – quitting her job, helping him detox, searching for clues to his fake illness – never anything as benign and enjoyable as watching a movie. No, it was the look on his face that was familiar, not the circumstances or the surroundings. The look that says he has it all figured out, has _her_ all figured out. He doesn't, not really, but it's comforting nonetheless that he still thinks he does. And that he still cares enough to try. She really _does_ miss him sometimes.

"Well, are you just going to stand there?" he demands, interrupting her reverie. "Put the damned DVD in."

Huh. Right. Back to reality. She complies with his order and then settles in on the couch to watch.

* * *

By about halfway through _The Blues Brothers_, she's mostly forgotten about his earlier references to seduction and is just enjoying the movie and the company. That is, until she notices that he seems to be sitting somewhat closer to her than he was when the movie first began. She glances at him from the corner of her eye and is startled to find that rather than watching the movie, he's watching her. Intently. She looks quickly back at the television screen. This may have been a bad idea. She slides, as unobtrusively as she can, to the left and pulls a conveniently located pillow into her lap. Cutting her eyes to him quickly, she discovers that he's once again looking at the television; a smirk on his lips that she suspects has nothing to do with the scene playing out on the screen in front of them. She can feel the heat creeping up her face. She slips a little lower in her seat.

* * *

By about three quarters of the way through _The Blues Brothers_, she's completely given up on watching the movie because she can't concentrate on anything other than what House is doing beside her. She's now flush up against the left arm of the couch and he's sitting so close to her that their thighs are almost touching. She's not quite sure how they've come to be in this position because never once did she actually see him move. Nonetheless, every time she chances a glance at him, he's closer to her than he had been a few minutes before. It's confusing. It's heady. It's...wrong. And she knows it. She has to get out of there. Now.

Just then, he yawns. Stretches. His arm lands on the back of the couch behind her and that's the last straw. She jumps to her feet and the pillow from her lap falls to the coffee table and knocks over her nearly empty bottle of beer. "House! What the hell are you doing?" she yelps.

"What?" he asks, looking as innocent as the day he was born.

"What? You know exactly what! How did you get from there to there?" she asks pointing first at the right hand side of the couch and then at where he's sitting now.

He screws up his face in faux concentration, before giving an exaggerated shrug of his shoulders. "Gravity?" he suggests. "It's an old building; the floor's a little slanted. Sometimes I slide."

"House! This isn't funny!"

"I beg to differ," he says. "I'm rather enjoying it. You're hot when you're nervous." He tilts his head to the side and taps his index finger against his chin. "You're also hot when you're mad, when you're confused, when you're cheerful... Well, cheerful is kind of annoying. But, yeah, still hot. Actually, now that I think of it, you're hot pretty much all the time. Come on, sit back down." He pats the miniscule space between him and the left arm of the couch.

"I...I just...argh!" She gives up, because really, there are no words. Hefting her laptop, still in its bag, over her shoulder, she marches to the door and rips her jacket from the doorknob at the same time as she's throwing it open.

She can hear him chuckle as she slams the door behind her. "Son of a bitch," she mutters.

She sets her bag down on the floor in front of her, leaning it against her legs as she pulls her coat on. There's no way in hell she's calling Chase to come pick her up now. It's not _that_ far; she'll just walk.

She shoves open the door to the outside.

Oh. Crap.

She'd completely forgotten about the rain. Adjusting the strap of her bag on her shoulder, she starts carefully down the wet stairs.


	3. Chapter 3

**Into Temptation, Chapter 3 **

Shortly after her abrupt departure from his apartment, he sees her pass by his front window, narrow shoulders hunched against the driving rain. He stalls for a few minutes – five, ten, just long enough to make her good and miserable – but in the end, he grabs his keys, throws on a jacket and heads for his car. He's nobody's white knight, but even he can't let her walk all the way home in that downpour.

When he spots her trudging along, laptop bag banging against her hip, he pulls over to the side of the road and slows to a crawl. When he lowers the passenger side window, the interior of the vehicle is instantly soaked. "Hey," he shouts. "Get in the car."

She ignores him and continues walking. He rolls along beside her. "Cameron, don't be an idiot. You don't even have to talk to me. Just get in." Still she continues walking. He steps on the accelerator, shoots a few feet ahead of her, leans over and throws the passenger door open. "Last chance," he shouts as she approaches. "My altruism only goes so far."

She pauses, apparently weighing her options, before finally getting in the car. She glances at him uncertainly before turning her head to stare out the window. True to his word, he doesn't attempt to engage her in conversation, but instead watches her with one eye as he drives the short distance to her apartment. She looks ten times wetter than she did when she first arrived at his place earlier that evening, and not nearly as attractive. He's not even tempted to crack any jokes this time; she's just too pathetic.

When he pulls up to the front door of her building, she still doesn't say a word, merely tossing him an incomprehensible look before climbing out of his car. It could have been a look of annoyance, but somehow he doesn't think so. He wonders if maybe it's regret.

**

* * *

**

As is so often the case, the rain finally gives way to sun just as Monday morning dawns and the new work week begins. House sits at his desk, sun streaming through the window behind him, warming his back and leaving a swatch of light across his desk. It's making it difficult to see his computer screen, but he doesn't care as he doesn't intend to be sitting there for long. Hunting and pecking, he logs into his hospital email account and begins an email to Cuddy. Forgoing a subject line, he attaches the patient files she'd coerced Cameron into coming to his place to complete. The ones he'd never given her a chance to actually do.

Rather than trying to convince her to come back, the next night he'd paid the med student who tends bar at his favourite hole in the wall five hundred dollars to fix up his notes and update his files. The end results aren't nearly up to Cameron's high standards, but they're probably better than he himself would have done and are good enough to keep Cuddy off of everyone's backs for awhile. He'd considered just emailing them from home, but the truth is he was kind of bored there. The fact that Cuddy seems content to let him do whatever he wants these days had taken most of the fun out of being on strike.

He attaches the last file and is just about to click send when the pushover in question walks in. He eyes her up and down, taking in the tight black skirt and low-cut red blouse, enjoying the view before she spoils it by opening her mouth.

"Well well, look what the cat dragged in," she says.

Mentally commending her on her originality, he pushes the button that sends his email off into cyberspace. He then grabs his cane and heads for the door. "Yeah well, now it's dragging me out again. The crap you sent Cameron over to do is in your inbox. See ya."

"Wait. House?"

He stops. Waits for what he knows is coming.

"I'm glad you're here. Or, I mean, I'm glad you've seen reason and decided to come back to work." She gives him a sickeningly hopeful smile.

He can't even look at her and so he just leaves, walks to the elevator, doesn't look back. He wishes she would just stop. At one time, they were friends. An odd sort of friends, but friends just the same. He's not sure what changed. When she first started looking at him...differently...he was intrigued. Confused, yes, but intrigued. It was an anomaly. Now, he's just annoyed, verging on disgusted. The Cuddy he knows has more self-respect than this. He wants no part of this pod person's masochistic delusions. And today especially, he has more interesting things to do.

* * *

He leans up against the wall, watching her from across the room. She looks tired; there are dark circles under her eyes. Sleepless nights over him, perhaps? He smirks at the thought. He's been standing there for at least fifteen minutes and she has yet to acknowledge his presence. Either she's slipping or she's ignoring him. After Friday night, he's betting it's the latter.

Her reaction to his game had been interesting. Despite his words to the contrary, he hadn't actually believed she still had feelings for him. In fact, he'd been fairly certain she never really did. He would have bet good money on the fact that all she'd felt all those years ago was a bit of misdirected hero worship combined with a pathological desire to cure what ailed him. Both of which he'd assumed she'd abandoned years ago once she'd gotten to know him better. So what was that reaction the other night? Why didn't she just tell him where to get off?

Across the room, she's currently tending to a small girl of about six, who appears to have knelt down on a glass bottle, judging by the amount of blood and the huge chuck of green glass protruding from her knee. The dark-haired child is sitting on a gurney, tears streaming silently down her face as she watches Cameron disinfect the area, in preparation for removing the glass. A teenage girl dressed all in black is talking a mile a minute in a high pitched, nasally voice that he can hear from across the room. Over and over, she tells the little girl how stupid she is not to have been more careful. And when she's not doing that, she's complaining about how the sight of blood is making her sick. In between seeing to the girl's injury, Cameron has asked her repeatedly to have a seat in the waiting room, only to be ignored.

He's heard enough. "Dr. Cameron!" he shouts as he limps over to the gurney. "Dr. Cameron, have you heard?"

"Little busy here, House," she says without looking up.

"But this is important. There's a new hospital rule you're apparently unaware of. It's just been decided that all pseudo-gothic, adenoidal, skanky-looking brats ..." He turns his head and glares at the teenager, before turning back to Cameron. "...who are mean to their little sisters have to wait in the waiting room." He turns abruptly and faces the teenager. "This means you. Shoo," he says prodding her with his cane.

"Excuse me?" the girl says, pushing the cane away. "Who the hell are you?"

"Rule enforcement committee. Take your skinny ass to the waiting room. Now."

"But..."

"Now!" he yells, losing what's left of his patience. The teen looks like she's about to speak again, but when he raises his cane and takes a step in her direction; she thinks better of it, turns on her heel and stalks off.

When he turns back around, both Cameron and the small girl are staring at him. "What?" he asks. "A rule's a rule." The little girl giggles through her tears. He approaches her and reaches into his pocket. He pulls out his PSP and hops up onto the gurney beside her. "You like video games?" he asks, pushing a button bringing the little gadget to life. When he has the child engaged in the game, he glances over at Cameron. She smiles at him and he nods in return.

* * *

A short time later, he's back in his office. The sun has moved enough in the sky that he can see his computer screen without squinting. He plugs a few words into a search engine, as he considers Cameron's reaction to his help in the ER. She'd thanked him warmly; as well she should have, since he _had_ been exceptionally helpful. He'd searched her smile carefully for any sign of lingering discomfort regarding his actions Friday night, but found none. Either she'd forgotten all about it, or his sudden attack of niceness had counteracted it to the point that she'd decided to forgive him. Which is unfortunate, because he's decided that further study is warranted. It's time to push this a little further. He picks up his phone and punches in a number he reads off his screen. "Ah, yeah," he says, "I want to order some flowers..."


	4. Chapter 4

**Into Temptation, Chapter 4**

"...so fortunately, there won't be any lasting damage, aside from a small scar once the wound heals," she explains to little Caroline Landry's mother. The woman arrived moments earlier, rushing frantically to the desk and asking for her daughter. Even now, she can tell from the hitch in her voice and the tears clouding her eyes that she doesn't quite believe the crisis is over. Reaching over, she touches her arm and gives her a sympathetic smile. "It's okay," she says. "_She's_ okay. Really."

"Thank you so very much, Dr. Cameron." Her shoulders relax and a tentative smile appears on her face. She leans down to take her little girl in her arms, but the child blocks her mother's hands with her chubby arms, takes a step backwards and starts peering anxiously all around the room.

"Did you lose something, honey?" her mother asks her, her eyes already roaming the room, looking for a forgotten backpack or teddy bear.

"Where did that man with the game go?" Caroline limps in circles looking for her own personal knight in shining armour.

Her mother glances over at Cameron, a questioning look on her face.

"Oh, there was another doctor helping me. He was distracting her with a video game," she explains, before crouching down to address Caroline at her level. "He's a very big, important doctor, so even though he would've much rather stayed here and played video games with you, he had to go help some sick people upstairs," she says, knowing that while Mrs. Landry probably assumes she's merely placating Caroline, her words are nothing but the truth.

"He was nice," Caroline tells her mother. "He made Emma go away 'cause you're not allowed to be mean to your sister in this hoss-ible."

"He was an asshole," Emma mutters, not quite under her breath. She stands, slouched up against the wall, picking at her black fingernail polish and scowling at anyone who gets too close.

Cameron shrugs and attempts to hold in a smile as she straightens up. The mother glares at her older daughter and lifts up the younger one to carry her to her car. Emma rolls her eyes, pushes off the wall and follows them out the door.

Cameron walks over to the nurses' station and picks up a clipboard intending to make some notes on Caroline's treatment. Glancing at her watch, she wonders what's keeping Chase. If he doesn't arrive soon, their plans to leave hospital grounds for an early lunch will have to be cancelled. Good thing she packed a snack just in case.

As she waits, she smiles remembering Caroline's fondness for House. Children always seemed to like him, maybe because he didn't talk down to them. And he did better with kids than he did with most adults. Not surprising, she supposes, as most of the time his maturity level is on par with that of a six year old. In any event, it had been good to have his help.

Funny, it wasn't at all how she expected their first encounter to go after what had transpired over the weekend. She'd been braced for bold insinuations and snide comments, but none had materialized. He hadn't loomed over her or invaded her personal space. He hadn't made a single crack about house calls or wet t-shirts. He hadn't even called her an idiot. In fact, he'd disappeared immediately after they'd finished with Caroline, without saying a single unprofessional word to her.

It was a relief, really.

Though she's only now realizing that she doesn't know what brought him to the ER in the first place.

Perhaps she had overreacted the other night at his apartment. After all, she'd been emotional and upset over her argument with Chase. It must have been the subject of that argument that put her imagination into overdrive. Of course House hadn't been seriously trying to hit on her. Just the thought was ludicrous. Hadn't he made it abundantly clear four years ago that he had no romantic interest in her? Sure, he found her attractive – he'd made that clear as well – but not attractive enough to do anything about it. He'd just been playing games, winding her up the same way he always did. It was her own big mouth that had alerted him to a sensitive subject. She'd given him the ammunition and he'd used it well. So well, that she hadn't been able to hide her reaction so, of course, he'd stepped it up a notch or two. But she'd been perfectly safe from any real advances. She should have just played along, called his bluff. Now _that_ would have been interesting.

Maybe she should go see what he wanted.

"Hey! Cameron, wake up. Are you coming?" She's startled out of her musings by Chase's hand waving in front of her face. She smiles at him, glad that their relationship is back on an even keel following an apology left on her answering machine and a contrite visit the next day.

"Oh, hey. Sorry, I was daydreaming. Where do you want to go to eat? I have to be back by noon, so it needs to be somewhere close."

"The coffee shop on Maple?" he suggests, checking his watch. "We should have enough time."

She nods her consent, drops the clipboard on top of a stack of other paperwork requiring her attention and comes out from behind the nurses' station. "I'll be back soon," she tells her head nurse. "If Dr. Cuddy comes by, tell her I haven't forgotten about the budget meeting. I'll be back before then."

Together, she and Chase walk toward the exit.

Chase is just describing the sandwich he plans on ordering, when somewhere behind them, a feminine voice calls, "Dr. Cameron! Dr. Cameron, wait!"

Cameron sighs. "So much for lunch," she whispers to Chase.

Chase grabs her elbow and starts walking more quickly. "Just ignore her. Come on, walk faster."

"Chase, you know I can't," she says regretfully.

Just as she turns around, a young, redheaded nurse walks up to them, carrying a glass vase tied with a red ribbon and containing at least two dozen multi-coloured roses and assorted greenery.

"These just came for you." She passes the vase to Cameron, who accepts it automatically. "They're gorgeous, Dr. Chase," the nurse comments with a grin before heading back in the direction from which she had come.

Cameron fingers the soft petals of a red rose and lowers her head to enjoy the fragrance. "Thank you," she says in delight, "They're beautiful!" She looks up just in time to see the smile falling away from his face.

"Yeah, well don't thank me," he says bitterly. "I didn't send them."

"Then who..." she begins, but stops when his hand shoots out and grabs the little white envelope bearing her name that she hadn't noticed until that very moment. He yanks the card out of the envelope and reads it.

As she watches, he raises his head to stare at her for one brief moment, hurt and anger comingling on his face. The card falls from his fingers and drifts slowly to the floor as he walks away. She can't make out all the words written on it from where she stands, but the name at the end is clear.

House.


	5. Chapter 5

**Into Temptation, Chapter 5**

**A/N: Thanks to jesmel at Livejournal for inadvertently inspiring the card. **

At first, she's too surprised to even move. Chase has no such problem. He doesn't wait for an explanation; he's out of sight before it even occurs to her to try and stop him. Bending down, she picks up the small white card from the floor. As she rises, vertigo strikes. The black markings on the card swim before her eyes, gradually forming letters, then words. When she's able, she reads it, whispering the words aloud.

_Cameron,_

_You're beautiful when you're wet. And I mean that in the dirtiest way possible._

_House._

She turns and walks to the elevator, trying to be angry, but only partly succeeding. His voice echoes in her head, repeating words the same words over and over. _You're beautiful..._

* * *

The white board stands besides the desk in the conference room, symptoms written in rose red. Blood clot in the leg, intermittent hearing loss, a rash covering the neck. House stands off to the right, spinning his cane like a baton. "Clot, ears and neck. Clot, ears and neck. Clot, ears and neck," he says, his inflection changing with each repetition. "Pot, beer and sex. Anyone else feel like partying?" He turns and regards his team, none of whom so much as crack a smile. "Losers," he proclaims, tossing his cane to his left hand and forming an L on his forehead with his right. He turns back to the board. His eyes fixate on the list, but rather than concentrating on the task at hand, his mind drifts to the emergency department several floors below. Behind him the team's discussion of the case dims to a mildly irritating buzz.

All's been quiet on the Cameron front. He wonders if his flowers have arrived yet. Surely if they had, she'd have called to thank him. Or yell at him. Or something. Actually, he's half expecting Chase to show up and punch him in the face.

As if on cue, he hears her voice coming from the doorway behind him. Good, not Chase. That would have been a big fat waste of a hundred bucks. If all he wanted was a broken nose he could've managed that for free.

"House, what the hell are these?" She walks up to him and shoves the vase of flowers into his chest as he's turning around. He grabs them with his free hand, just in time to prevent them from crashing to the floor.

"Why Cameron, you shouldn't have," he jokes, cutting his eyes to Foreman and the others, hoping she'll take the hint. This isn't the place. Apparently she does, because after glancing in their direction, she stalks off to his office, leaving him holding the vase.

"Women," he remarks to the team, "You know how it is, right Thirteen?" Not waiting for a response, he turns, follows Cameron into his office, closing the door behind them. He deposits the heavy vase on his desk and turns to face her, tilting his head in fake confusion. "What, don't you like them?" he deadpans taking a step backwards to lean against the desk.

"House, they're beautiful, but that isn't the point and you know it! Chase saw them! Read the card!" He watches as she paces back and forth in front of him, a blur in pink scrubs. He hadn't been lying when he said she was beautiful when she was wet, but she's even more beautiful when she's angry.

"You know, I can think of better ways for you to burn off some of that excess energy," he offers, as much to interrupt his own idiotic train of thought as to annoy her.

She stops and stands directly in front of him, fists clenched. "What the hell are you trying to prove? This isn't some kind of game, you know. This is my life! You're interfering in my relationship for sport! You have no right!"

"Sending you flowers is interfering in your relationship?" He sniffs the roses beside him. Wrinkles his nose. Should've gone with something less aromatic.

"Yes, House. Don't play stupid. You may be socially inept, but even you know that you just don't go sending someone else's girlfriend flowers!" Her hands are on her hips now, as though to prove she's secure in her moral superiority.

"Even if said girlfriend is actually in love with you and not her boyfriend?" Payoff time. He watches closely for her reaction.

"Not even then!" she avows before stopping abruptly and he can see that she's just realized what she's said. "Not that that's the case here. Why are you doing this?"

It's the question he was waiting for. He blows out a breath. "What if I told you that I really do want you?" He looks her right in the eye. It's all just part of the game. He knows what she'll say, but her answer doesn't really matter. Not yet.

He can see every human emotion there is fly across her face before it goes completely blank.

"It's too late House," she says. "Just. Stop."

She turns on her heel and stalks out of his office.

"So does that mean you don't want to have dinner with me tonight?" he shouts after her.

After he watches her disappear down the hall, he walks around his desk, sits down, picks up his tennis ball. Tosses it from hand to hand. She forgot her flowers. Okay, wrong verb, but still he wishes she would've taken them. She _should_ have them; they suit her somehow. Beautiful, elegant, and occasionally thorny. She smells better though.

He tosses the ball at his forehead and catches it when it bounces back.

She left so quickly; he's vaguely disappointed. Because now he has to go back to work? Because he spent a hundred bucks on flowers for nobody? Because she was so swift in turning him down? Whatever. Self analysis is not his strong suit. He'll ask Wilson later.

He sets the ball down on the desk, grabs the vase and heads for the conference room.

Party Guy needs him for now, so Cameron gets a short reprieve. But, he's not done playing yet.

The roses, vase and all, land in the trashcan on his way out the door.


	6. Chapter 6

**Into Temptation, Chapter 6**

The phone cradled between her shoulder and ear, Cameron holds the mixing bowl with one hand and stirs with the other. Chase is jabbering in her ear, the details of his day not really penetrating as she concentrates on measuring, adding, and stirring. Baking isn't a favourite activity, but the resulting chocolate chip cookies are well worth the hassle. She runs a finger down the worn recipe card, double-checking that she hasn't missed some key ingredient.

"I just finished a surgery for House's patient. I'm going to go update Foreman, then shower and change and I'll be off. Though, I tell you, I'm tempted to update House himself, and tell him where to go while I'm at it."

The annoyance in his voice, along with the name attached to it, finally catches her attention. She sighs as she pours a bag of chocolate chips into the big, blue bowl. "Chase, come on, we've been over this. He was just screwing with me. I told him to stop and he did. I haven't heard from him in days, so there's no need to bring it up again. He's probably forgotten all about it; you'd just be reminding him. Besides, do you _really_ want to give him the satisfaction of knowing he got to you?" A few more stirs and she's ready to start spooning the dough onto a cookie sheet.

"Okay, all right," he concedes. "I'll stay away. See you in about an hour."

"Bye." She smiles as she hangs up the phone. After a couple more spoonfuls, she carries the cookie sheet over to the oven, slides it in, sets the timer.

While she waits for the ding, she putters around her kitchen, humming to herself, tidying up and loading the dishwasher. The cookies should be baked, cooled and ready to eat before Chase arrives. Maybe she'll even save him a couple.

She starts the dishwasher and then wipes the counter off, pausing to rearrange the flowers Chase had brought her. Fluffy pink and white carnations. They're pretty, she reminds herself, trying and failing to ignore the image of another, grander, bouquet that floats in front of her eyes.

She's somewhat surprised it was so easy to persuade House to leave her alone. Usually he's like a dog with a bone when he finds a new diversion. Maybe he's just preoccupied by his latest case. From what she's heard, it's been one crisis after another and he's been putting in a lot more hours than usual. It's no wonder he hasn't been around to harass her. He likely hasn't had time. She decides she better not let her guard down just yet - it might not be over. The thought brings with it the most curious sense of anticipation.

The timer sounds, interrupting her musings and saving her from any uncomfortable introspection. Grabbing a pot holder, she pulls open the oven door and a wave of vanilla and chocolate scented heat greets her. Her mouth starts to water as she pulls out the sheet of golden cookies, dotted with molten brown pools of chocolate. As she sets them on the stovetop, it's all she can do to keep from dipping her finger in the centre of one and licking it clean, the way she had done as a little girl, baking with her mother.

As she lifts them off the cookie sheet and onto the wire cooling rack, a loud rapping noise startles her and a soft, warm cookie slides off the plastic spatula and splats against the floor.

"Come in," she yells, crouching down to remove the ruined treat from the tile. "That was quick," she says when she hears the door open. "You're just in time for chocolate chip cookies, fresh from the oven."

"My favourite." An unexpected voice comes from somewhere above her and she jerks her head up to see House leaning over her island staring down at her. Startled, she loses her balance and falls gracelessly onto her rear end. Her hands fly into the air and the cookie lands on the island in front of him.

He wrinkles his nose. "If it's all the same to you, I think I'll have one that's slightly less squashed." He limps around the island and grabs one from the cooling rack. Only after he's taken a bite does he offer her a hand.

She ignores it and struggles to her feet.

"House! What are you doing here?"

"Solved my case. Brought wine," he says through a mouthful of baked good. He gestures towards the island, where sure enough, a bottle of wine stands.

All she can do is stare at him. Brought wine. As if that was a perfectly normal thing for him to do. As if they were friends. As if they were dating. Well, they're not. They're not and he can't just show up at her home and pretend like they are. She opens her mouth to tell him so, but apparently anticipating her objections, he places a finger against her lips.

"Shh. I dropped a bundle on that wine. Don't ruin the moment."

She swats his hand away. "There is no moment, House. You have to leave. Chase is going to be here any minute."

"Who?" he asks, the picture of innocence. He pops the last of the cookie into his mouth.

She's starting to feel a little disoriented. Suddenly the whole situation is just too surreal. House, of all people, playing Richard Burton to her Elizabeth Taylor. Chase, a suspicious Eddie Fisher. Except, she reminds herself, that no one here is married. So, really, if he was serious, and if she wanted to...

But he's not. And she doesn't.

She doesn't. Even though now he's looking down at her with those remarkable blue eyes. She doesn't. Even though now he's taking a couple of steps closer and when she breathes in, all she can smell is him. She doesn't. Even though now he's lowering his head, and his hand is brushing back her hair. She doesn't.

Except that she does.

His lips lightly brush against hers. Once, twice. At the third touch, her arm coils around his neck and holds him in place. She feels his hands come to rest on her waist, his fingers tracing random patterns – touches that would be ticklish under any other circumstances, but are instead almost unbearably arousing. Her lips part slightly and she feels his tongue dart out to taste the smooth skin just barely inside her lower lip. She grants his silent request and opens her mouth wider to allow him greater access. Her tongue slides against his and just for a moment she's lost. Just for a moment, she allows herself the luxury of ignoring both her conscience and her good sense. Just for a moment, she pretends that this is as right as it feels.

But it's not. She lets go of his neck, takes a step backwards. He offers no resistance.

"Leave," she whispers, looking down at the floor. "Please."

She knows he's gone only by the dull thud of the closing door.

* * *

Chase finally arrives an hour later, as she's unloading the dishwasher. If he notices the smell of cookies in the air, he doesn't comment. The cookies themselves are long gone, buried in the bottom of the trashcan, the flavour of them a reminder she doesn't need.

"Hey, wine," he remarks, picking up the bottle and examining the label. He looks over at her, a look of surprise on his face. "This is expensive stuff!"

"So I hear," she mutters under her breath, walking over to the cupboard and grabbing a couple of glasses.

"What?"

"I said, I heard it was good. Thought I'd give it a try," she shrugs and passes him the glasses. Leaving him to pour, she wanders to the living room and flops on the sofa.

When Chase joins her a few minutes later, she barely notices him. She runs her index finger back and forth across her lower lip, remembering.


	7. Chapter 7

**Into Temptation, Chapter 7**

He closes the door behind him and leans back against the frame. Looking down, he rubs his rough chin, fingers scraping against stubble. _What the hell was that? That _was _not_ part of the plan. His eyes drift from the speckled brown of the industrial carpet beneath his feet, up the beige walls, past the uninspired hallway art, all the way to the dingy white ceiling. Coming to the conclusion that there are no answers to be found in Cameron's corridor, he pushes off from the door frame and limps toward the exit.

He wasn't supposed to _feel_ anything.

* * *

He takes the long way home, weaving in and out of traffic, grateful that he'd taken the bike. He drives, aimlessly for the most part, up and down residential streets, through the business district, past the hospital. He considers turning in then, contemplates seeking out a distraction in the form of a stolen case, or a love struck administrator, but neither option holds much appeal. He continues on, through the park, onto the highway, right back off again at the next exit. A seedier part of town, a dive on every corner. Drown his sorrows? Nope, not tonight. He easily resists the allure of flickering neon signs advertising anonymity and cheap beer. Time to go home; it's starting to rain.

* * *

Two hours later, he's still not sure what happened. He's fairly certain he hadn't gone there to kiss her. But still, as he sits on his couch holding a glass of bourbon, swirling the contents around, he's not quite ready to chase away the taste of her with the bitter amber liquid.

He really hadn't meant to kiss her. Actually, he's not sure what he had hoped to accomplish by going to her place. One of those it _seemed like a good idea at the time_ situations? Perhaps. He'd been going to try and talk her into a glass of wine, ostensibly to celebrate his solving the case. See if he could make her laugh; get her to relax around him a bit before putting the next part of his plan into action. But when she had looked up at him, biting her lip, so confused, so vulnerable, all his well-laid plans had fallen away. All that was left was her and him.

He's pretty sure, anyway, that he hadn't meant to kiss her. Pretty sure, fairly certain, he can toss out as many adverbs as he likes, but it still doesn't add up to 100 percent. He'd thought about it before. Kissing her. Not recently, though, if you define recently as within the last couple of days. But that's not even true, is it? Because he'd thought about it in the liquor store. He snorts. That's precisely how he'd ended up with such an overpriced bottle of wine.

Okay, enough of this. He sets the bourbon down on the coffee table, rises from the couch, and limp-hops over to the piano. His favourite way to kill a couple of hours. Well, second favourite, or maybe third, but whatever; it works. Usually.

Not tonight, though, he's forced to concede after a half an hour of clumsy fingers refusing to play the proper notes. He closes the keyboard. Back to the couch. Television on; television off. Pick up a book; put it back down.

Screw it.

The bourbon burns as it slides down his throat.

He does the only other thing he can do. He picks up the phone to call Wilson.

"Yeah Wilshon," he slurs into the phone. "Need you. Thinks I took too many..." He smirks as he clicks off the phone. That ought to do it. The phone starts to ring almost immediately. He doesn't answer, just checks his watch when it stops. Fifteen, twenty minutes tops.

* * *

Only ten minutes, as it turns out. A knock at the door. He pulls it open, ready to berate his friend for knocking when he could've been _dying_ for chrissakes, but there is no Wilson on the other side.

Surprise! There's Cameron, once more wet and bedraggled. And she's biting her lip again, he notices. Whether from nerves or something else, he can't tell. He stands aside in silent invitation.

"Why is it always raining when I come here?" she asks as she walks past.

"A sign that you're supposed to be wet for me?" he suggests. "Did you bring me some cookies?" When she shakes her head no, he pats his pockets and then pulls out a Vicodin vial. "That's okay," he says. "I've got candy." He tosses a couple to the back of his throat and walks back to the couch and his bourbon. He notices her wince when he uses it to wash down the pills. Don't say anything, he silently commands. If she doesn't say anything, then maybe... Nothing. Maybe nothing.

She turns and wanders into the kitchen, leaving him alone. He debates whether to follow her, but he takes too long and the point is moot when she wanders back in, beer in hand. She flicks on the television, clicks through the channels before settling on a basketball game.

"You...like basketball?" It's not the question he wants to ask. He wants to ask why she's here. What happened to Chase? Can he kiss her again? But he's confusing himself because really, he doesn't _want_ to kiss her again. So he goes with basketball.

"Not really."

That could have led to some sort of conversation. _Why are you watching basketball if you don't like basketball, Cameron? Well, House, because I'm avoiding, of course._ And so on. But since _he's_ avoiding, and yes, he knows he is, he lets it slide. Besides, _he_ actually does like basketball. He picks his bourbon up again, leans back and puts his feet up on the coffee table.

He hears the shout about an eighth of a second before the door whips open and Wilson barrels in. "House! House, are you okay?"

Damn it. He forgot about Wilson. He's not sure who's more surprised, Wilson at seeing him not only not-overdosed, but sitting calmly on the couch with Cameron, or Cameron at Wilson shouting and barging in.

He looks from one to the other, as if he's at a tennis match, waiting for one of them to speak. He's betting Wilson yells at him for not being dead and Cameron stammers some explanation of why she's here and ends up looking guiltier than if she had just said nothing.

Wrong on both accounts. Wilson's apparently so surprised to see her that he forgets why he's there in the first place. Cameron says nothing.

"Wilson, Cameron. Cameron, Wilson," he mutters, just to break the silence.

"Hey...Cameron," Wilson greets her, his tone uncertain.

"Hey, Wilson," she replies as she stands and passes between House and the coffee table, giving him an excellent view of her ass. "I was just leaving."

"Don't leave on my account," Wilson says. He turns his head and glares at House. "I'm not sure why I'm here in the first place," he adds irritably. "Since House is very obviously _not_ in any danger of ODing."

If Cameron finds that to be an odd thing to say, she shows no sign of it. "I'm not sure why I'm here either, to be honest. I'm just going to go. Bye guys." She's out the door without another look at him.

Wilson says nothing more, just shoots him one last death glare before leaving as well.

_Alone again, naturally_, he hums quietly to himself. On a whim, he trades his bourbon for her still mostly full beer. Touching his tongue to the rim of the bottle, he could swear he tastes something of her and not just beer flavoured glass. Resting his elbow on the arm of the couch and his head on his palm, he tries to focus on the basketball game playing out on the television in front of him.

He really hadn't meant to kiss her.


	8. Chapter 8

**Into Temptation, Chapter 8**

The rain has mostly stopped, she notes with gratitude as she hurries down the stairs leading from House's building to the sidewalk. There remains only a slight mist lingering in the cool night air. The evenly-spaced streetlamps provide just enough illumination that she can avoid any puddles in her path, but not so much as to chase away the uneasiness that comes from being outside, alone, in the dark. She wishes she'd chosen a closer parking spot when she arrived a short time earlier, but she hadn't been thinking about the walk back. Really, she hadn't been thinking at all.

"Cameron, wait!" She hears a voice coming from behind her and, in the instant before she recognizes it as Wilson's, her heart leaps into her throat. Fighting back the sting of disappointment she shouldn't be feeling, she slows and allows him to catch up.

"I'm...surprised to see you here," he comments as he walks up alongside her. She recognizes the innocuous remark for the probing question it's trying not to be. She likes Wilson, really she does, but she's learned never to take anything for granted when it comes to the relationship between the seemingly benevolent oncologist and his prickly best friend. There are undertones there that she doesn't fully understand, with Wilson veering between adulation for all House is and abhorrence over all he is not with an almost alarming ease. His abrupt arrival and departure, combined with the vague drug reference, have left her unsure of which phase of the cycle he's currently in, making him an altogether inappropriate confidante.

She shrugs. "Just dropping something off." She's not much of a liar, but she's picked up a thing or two from House. Keep it simple, no extraneous details, and maybe he'll buy it. As they've reached her car, she leaves the sidewalk and unlocks the driver's side door.

"Is there something going on between you and House?" he asks abruptly.

Or maybe he won't buy it.

She yanks the car door open and moves to stand in the V it forms with the body of the car. Steel and plastic don't provide much protection from unwanted questions, but she'll take what she can get at the moment. "Why would you think that?" she asks cautiously.

"Well, you know, there have always been certain undertones there..."

She almost laughs out loud at his inadvertent mimicry, but the impulse fades away as she hears the rest of his sentence

"...and then the other day, he was talking about you."

"Oh?" she asks, carefully keeping her tone, and her face, neutral.

"Yeah," Wilson says, shuffling his feet and scratching the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable with breaking his friend's confidence. Though not so uncomfortable that he won't do it anyway, she suspects. And as much as she would like to hear what he has to say, in the end it doesn't really matter. She's with Chase. She never should have come here in the first place. End of story.

"Stop, Wilson," she interrupts, holding up a hand. "Keep his confidence, okay? I don't think I need to know whatever it is you're about to say."

He looks back in the direction of the townhouse, then down at his feet, then back to her. "Yeah, okay. You're right. I'll just say this: Whatever is, or is not, going on, means something to him. He may not know exactly what yet, but it means something."

She doesn't know what to say to that, so she merely nods and slides into the driver's seat. Wilson, ever the gentleman, closes the door for her, gives her a little wave and walks off towards his own car, parked on the other side of the street, a few spaces down from hers. She follows his progress from one pool of light to the next in her rear view mirror, and isn't at all surprised when, just as he's about to reach his vehicle, he changes course and heads back towards the townhouse. Only when he's out of sight, does she turn the key in the ignition.

The car roars to life and she pulls away from the curb and heads in the direction of home. As she drives, Wilson's words replay in her head..._there have always been certain undertones there_... The very same word she has often applied to Wilson's own relationship with House. A relationship that seems, even from the outside, to be far more deep and meaningful than mere work buddies or even close friends. Not in a romantic sense of course – she's never had any reason to question either of their sexual preferences – but still, she's always seen them as having something rare and unique, if not always healthy. The idea that Wilson, of all people, maybe sees something similar between House and herself, well, given the source, it's an idea that warrants further thought. Or, then again, he could've just meant sexual undertones. They've certainly always been present for her, but she's not sure what to make of the thought that someone else may have noticed them as well.

A traffic light changes from green to amber and finally to red just as she reaches the intersection. It shouldn't make any difference, as she is supposed to be turning right, but she idles at the light anyway. Her hand rests on the lever for her turn signal, but she doesn't push it down. She doesn't want to go home. Chase is still there, probably in her bed, watching television, waiting for her to come home from the hospital emergency she manufactured when her guilt over kissing House was threatening to overwhelm her.

When the light changes to green she continues on straight ahead. She wonders if maybe she should just keep driving, forget about this whole dilemma, start a new life with no boyfriends she cares not enough for and no gruff older men she cares for too much. No one to hurt her and no one for her to hurt. She could do it. She's run before.

But she was younger then, had fewer responsibilities, and as much as she wishes she could, she can't just leave him behind. Which him isn't entirely clear, even in her own mind. She turns right at the next intersection.

There's so little traffic at this time of the night, that even with the short detour, she's home in no time. The two flights of stairs to her apartment seem steeper than usual, the hallway longer. She's just so tired. She shoves her key into the lock and turns, letting herself into the apartment. The main living area is in darkness, but she can see the flickering light of the television coming from the bedroom. She toes off her shoes, drops her bag on the floor and tiptoes down the hall. Poking her head through the bedroom door, she can see Chase on the bed, snoring softly. The same basketball game she turned on at House's is playing mutely on the television.

Relief floods through her veins. Backing silently out of the room, she returns to the living room and curls up on the couch. As she pulls the afghan from the back of the couch down over top of her, it occurs to her that this, sleeping on the couch, may be difficult to explain in the morning. But that's okay; she'll worry about that tomorrow.

.


	9. Chapter 9

**Into Temptation, Chapter 9**

The door opens without warning, pulling his concentration away from the basketball game he has finally managed to involve himself in. But he doesn't turn around and he's careful not to reveal that his attention has been captured. There is no doubt in his mind as to the identity of his visitor, and it's not the one he'd welcome.

The door closes. "What the hell, House," Wilson demands from somewhere behind him.

"Oh. You're back. What a surprise," he answers flatly, not looking away from the television.

"What in God's name were you trying to pull with that phone call?" House can almost hear his friend's hair being pulled from his scalp. "Actually, no, never mind that. What was Cameron doing here?" Wilson walks over and stands in front of the television, leaving House no choice but to look at him.

"Don't know," he replies, straightening up and setting his, _her_, empty beer bottle down on the coffee table. "_Someone_ barged in and scared her off before I had a chance to ask her. Didn't you ask her after you chased her down the damned street?"

"Yes, House. Of course I asked her."

"So why are you asking me?"

"Because she lied. She said she was just dropping something off."

"And you know that's a lie how, exactly?" he asks, genuinely curious, but infusing the question with a touch of rancour nonetheless.

Wilson throws his hands up. "Okay, what did she drop off, then?"

He taps his index finger against his chin and makes a big show of looking around the room for the elusive something.

"Oh yeah," he says, as if he's just remembering, "It was a big bottle of None of Your Damned Business. Go away, Wilson." He slumps back against the couch and closes his eyes. Maybe when he opens them again, this day will finally be over.

"Leave her alone House. This...game...you're playing with her isn't fair. She's a human being, not a toy. And she's over you. She's happy. Just...leave her alone. You had your chance."

He opens one eye and regards the other man.

"So riddle me this - If she's so happy, why did she kiss back?"

Wilson drops into a conveniently located armchair. "Kiss?" he asks faintly. "Tell me you did not just say kiss."

"Okay, I won't tell you." He opens the other eye and turns back to the television, just in time to watch the Nets tie up the game. He lets out a half-hearted cheer, just to give Wilson a reason to accuse him of Not Taking This Seriously Enough.

He does so, but only by way of a narrow-eyed glare before turning back to his new favourite subject. "Why would you kiss her? Why are you doing any of this?"

He rolls his eyes. "Why do you think, genius? You've seen her."

"So have you! Damned near everyday for the last five years. Why now?"

Why now indeed. It's a question that's bounced through his mind on more than one occasion tonight. As much as he'd like to cling to his "It's just a game" theory, even he is not that self-delusional. He shrugs. "Chase isn't good enough for her. She should know she might have other options."

"_Might_ have other options," Wilson repeats. "You'd destroy her relationship because she _might_ have other options?" He extends his finger to point at House. "Somehow I don't think it's _Chase_ that's not good enough for her."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" he demands, though he suspects he knows where this is going.

"Look at yourself, House. You're fifty years old..."

"Forty-nine," he mumbles.

"...you've got a long-standing drug problem, you haven't been in a relationship in a decade, you've got some pretty serious boundary issues, not to _mention_ intimacy issues, and worst of all, you don't even really want her! As soon as you get your way and she leaves Chase, you'll be bored and she'll be left in pieces on the floor."

He would have laughed out loud at his friend's melodramatic imagery if he weren't so offended. "Get the hell out."

"What?"

"Out, get out!" He stands, limps over to where Wilson is sitting, and physically hauls him from his chair. He ignores the protests issuing from his thigh as he shoves the other man in the direction of the front door. "You have no idea what you're talking about. None. You think you know me? You don't. I'm not defined by what you think I am. And my feelings for Cameron are none of your fucking business."

He throws open the front door and stands aside.

Wilson casts him a bewildered look. He opens his mouth to say something else, but clearly thinks better of it, before walking out the door.

House slams it behind him.

Walking back into the living room, he flicks the television off on his way to the bathroom. He's long past ready for this day to be done.

Too bad he can't turn his thoughts off as easily as the TV.

If he is really interested in her, and he's still not convinced that's the case, despite what he'd said to Wilson in anger, _shouldn't_ it be her decision to pursue it or not? Doesn't she deserve to know? Of course she does. Wilson clearly doesn't know what he's talking about.

He scrutinizes himself in the mirror above the sink, tries to be impartial. He's not so bad, is he? He's capable of intelligent conversation, he's a successful doctor, he's got lots of money, he doesn't drink or gamble excessively. He runs a hand through his hair. Sure, it's greying and thinning, but he's still better off than many men his age. He raises his right arm, flexes his bicep and examines the muscle in the mirror. Again, pretty good for a man of his age, or any age, really. He's got better guns than Chase, in fact.

He's a catch.

Isn't he?

He grimaces at his reflection and drops his arm. Well aside from the bum leg. And the drug addiction. And the tendency toward misanthropy. Oh, who the hell is he kidding? Wilson's right. She does deserve better than the likes of him.

He quickly brushes his teeth, splashes some water on his face in a half-assed attempt at washing it, and limps from the bathroom to the bedroom. His jeans are exchanged for worn plaid sleep pants and his grey t-shirt is stripped off and tossed in a corner. The discarded jeans soon follow, after he pulls his Vicodin vial from the hip pocket and sets it on the nightstand. Pulling back the covers, he sits down on the bed and lifts his bad leg in first, tucking it under the covers like a child, before swinging in the other one. He leans over, switches off the light and settles in, pulling the blankets up over his bare shoulders.

Just moments before he falls asleep, his annoyance with Wilson evaporates as he realizes what game the other man had been playing at. Wilson _against_ the idea of him and Cameron? Uh-uh. Just good old-fashioned reverse psychology. Son of a bitch. There's a faint smile on his face as he succumbs to sleep.


	10. Chapter 10

**_A/N: Happy Canada Day!!_**

**Into Temptation, Chapter 10**

A watched kettle never boils, Cameron reminds herself as she waits for water to boil for tea. Or does that old adage apply only to pots? It must, because soon she can see tiny bubbles starting to rise up and disrupt the calm surface of the water inside the transparent kettle. A minute passes and now it seems there are more bubbles than water as the water turns to steam and floats away. Some days she wishes she could just float away. More bubbles than water, more questions than answers, more fear than hope…

The high pitched whistle of the boiling kettle jolts her out of her trance and she moves to silence it. The situation with House cannot continue. Tiny bubbles have been forming on the surface of her life ever since the evening she spent with him, and now they are about to erupt into a full rolling boil. There was a certain look in Chase's eyes as he kissed her goodbye that morning that spoke to her loud and clear. _I know something's up, Allison_, it said. _I know something's up and I'm going to give you the space you need to deal with it, but understand that my patience only goes so far. _It's more of an allowance than she deserves. She's all too aware of that fact, but it doesn't make any of this easier.

It's the sense of being at a crossroads that scares her the most, she decides, as she pours a mug of hot water and absentmindedly swishes a teabag through it. Crossroads mean decisions, and she's just not that great with major life decisions. She's always been far too spontaneous for her own good. It's one good thing about being so closely entwined with House – next to his insanity, the rest of them appear relatively stable. But unfortunately for her, her track record speaks for itself. Quitting a highly prized fellowship, with no notice, not once but twice, in any other hospital, in any other city in the country, would have essentially ended her career. It most certainly would _not_ have led to her boss begging her to come back, but even if it had, and she had decided to blackmail said boss into a date… Well, suffice it to say, she doesn't always make the smartest decisions.

It's strange, because she makes life or death decisions for other people every day, she thinks, as she takes her mug of tea from the kitchen counter to the table and slides into a chair. So, it's not as though she's incapable of doing the right thing at the right time. She just needs to work on transferring her medical intuition to her personal life. Sighing, she takes a sip of her tea. As she swallows, the green-glowing digits on her microwave catch her attention.

The tea swirls down the drain as she grabs her bag and rushes out the door, already knowing she's going to be late.

* * *

Her stomach is in knots as she walks through the parking lot toward the hospital twenty minutes later. She wishes she had listened to all those experts out there who advise against workplace romances. Turns out they're right, they really are a bad idea, but that realization comes far too late to help her now. Having no choice but to face her current situation in the place where she is supposed to be professional at all times is only adding to the anxiety bubbling within her. Gritting her teeth, she pushes the door open. She'll deal. Sadly, she's been in comparable predicaments before. Yet another example of her poor decision making skills.

The first person she sees upon entering is Dr. Cuddy, standing at the front desk, which tempts her to turn around and walk right back out. It seems the only time her boss approaches her these days is when she's trying oh-so-covertly to gain information about House. It's annoying and slightly stomach-turning at the best of times, and these are far from the best of times. Staring straight ahead as she walks through the lobby, she hopes the other woman won't notice her.

No such luck.

"Dr. Cameron. A moment please."

She doesn't stop, but she does slow down. The woman is her superior after all. It could be important.

"Have you seen Dr. House…?"

No. She can't do this right now. Can't.

"No, Dr. Cuddy," she interrupts. "As you can see, I've only just arrived." She continues on her way, without a backwards glance.

* * *

He's in the back of her mind all day and into the evening. And often in the front as well. She's gone over every moment they've spent together in the past five years with a fine tooth comb. Tried to ferret out hidden meanings in every word they've exchanged, tried to decipher looks he'd given her days, months, and even years earlier. What she's trying to do, she realizes, is decide whether what she's wondering is even possible.

Could he really mean it?

Could he really be serious about her? About them?

After all this time?

All her analysis has led to one painful, unavoidable, conclusion.

The answer is no.

He can't be. He just doesn't have it in him.

And she can't just give up everything on the one teeny tiny chance that maybe he is and maybe he does.

She's always been far too spontaneous for her own good.

By the time her shift concludes, she knows what she has to do.

End it.

* * *

Standing in the doorway, she leans against the jamb, just watching him for a few minutes. House is seated at his desk, feet up, earbuds in, a People magazine covering his face. Just for a moment, it feels like old times – her standing there, needing something from him, but reluctant to interrupt his unique method of problem-solving. Him, completely oblivious to her presence.

"Well, are you going to come in?" he asks, pulling the magazine off and tossing it toward the desk. He overshoots and it slides off the other side and onto the floor.

Or, maybe not so oblivious.

"Ah, yeah. Hi," she offers by way of a greeting as she walks in and leans over to pick up the magazine. Caught off guard already, she mentally chides herself. This is off to a great start. Taking a deep breath, she tries to picture a pool of calm, clear, bubble-free water.

"Hey," he responds, pulling out his earbuds.

Dropping the magazine on the desk, she plops down in the chair across from him. She opens her mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. Now that she's finally here, all her carefully rehearsed words have flown right out of her head. Cursing under her breath, she lays her head down on his desk and closes her eyes.

After a moment she feels fingers running lightly through her hair. Heat begins to rise inside of her and the bubbles threaten to spill over again.


	11. Chapter 11

**Into Temptation, Chapter 11**

It's not the loud click-clack of Cuddy's stilettos he hears pause in front of his door, but more of a light tap-tap-tap. He's heard those particular footsteps many times before. That fact and a certain inexplicable twist in his chest tell him exactly who is standing at his door thinking of entering.

The _who_ was easy. The _why_ is harder. But he figures that while there's always more than one way to find out, the direct approach might be the most expedient this time.

"Well, are you going to come in?" he invites, pulling the magazine off his face and tossing it toward the desk. He grimaces as he overshoots and it slides off the other side and onto the floor.

"Ah, yeah. Hi," she says as she walks in and leans over to pick up the magazine, giving him a tantalizing glimpse of lace-covered cleavage.

"Hey," he responds, taking out the earbuds he'd been wearing just for show. People are more apt to leave him alone if they assume he can't hear them rather than that he's merely ignoring them. But damned if he can concentrate when there's actual music blaring directly into his ear canals.

Dropping the magazine on the desk, she sits down in the chair across from him. As he watches, she opens her mouth to speak, but she can't quite seem to get the words out. At last, she mutters something incomprehensible and her head drops to his desk, blond hair fanning everywhere.

It seems to creep its way across the desk, tempting his fingers – _touch me; you know you want to_. And so he does. He starts by toying with the ends that have landed only inches from his hand, but before too long, the softness has lured his hand up to the top of her head until he's stroking her as one would a cat. It's not because she looks distraught, he tells himself. It's simply because it feels good. Soft. Silken. Similar to how he imagines the skin covering her collarbone would feel under his tongue. Not that he's spent much time imagining that.

He knows he should ask her what's wrong, but he's really not sure he wants to know. Whatever she says may mean an end to this, whatever _this_ is. Where exactly he wants it to go, he hasn't made up his mind, but he does know he's not ready for it to be over.

He continues to twine his fingers through her hair until she jolts upright after he accidentally – mostly accidentally – okay, purposely - runs a finger along the curve of her outer ear.

"Stop," she says. "What are you _doing_?"

He shrugs. "Comforting you? You looked upset."

"Well don't. It's not like you and it's only making this harder." She stands and walks past him, over to the glass door of his balcony.

Swiveling around in his chair, he watches her as she stares out the window at the night sky. She looks so small and vulnerable standing there in the dim light. Her arms are wrapped around herself as if she were cold, though it is quite warm in his office. Her face reflected in the glass is unreadable, but the fact that she can't look at him probably isn't a good sign.

"Making what harder?" he asks. He rises from his chair and walks over to stand directly behind her. "I bet you're thinking about kissing me right now," he speculates. It's certainly the foremost subject in _his_ mind.

"No!" she says, sounding almost too vehement to his ears. "No. That was a mistake."

"Don't say that," he reprimands. "You wanted it as much as I did. You kissed back." And she had too. He hadn't imagined her fingers dancing across the back of his neck and her tongue sliding against his own. He takes another step closer, until there is scarcely an inch separating them. Reaching out then, he rests his hands lightly on her hips.

He can see her small smile in the glass of the door. "Isn't that my line?"

He nods in understanding. She's talking about the first time they kissed, some years earlier. "Do you remember what I said then?"

She exhales forcefully and finally turns to face him. He allows his hands to slide along her midsection as she turns, but he doesn't remove them and she doesn't push them away. He can see the wariness in her eyes. She's wondering where he's going with this. Truthfully, so is he. He's really just making it up as he goes along, but the fact that she's looking at him now is encouraging. "That you didn't want me to die without knowing the feeling," she answers. "And now I know it all too well. House, this has to stop."

Uh-uh. No.

"Kiss me again, and then repeat what you just said." Pulling her to him, he closes the miniscule gap between them and lowers his face to hers. She joins in willingly, immediately, despite what she'd just said, and relief floods through him. Her words were a token resistance, nothing more. His thoughts are only confirmed when he hears a little hitch in her breath as he slides a hand down from her hip to her bottom to pull her tighter against him. Moving his mouth from hers, he leaves a trail of kisses from her jaw line to her ear, down her neck and finally across the collarbone he had not been dreaming of tasting for so many years now.

Vaguely, he registers that she's speaking softly, but her words aren't important. He wants to touch her everywhere all at once, wants to lose himself in her, wants to consume her completely. She's his, finally his. He kisses his way back up her neck, along her cheek, searching for her lips again.

What he finds instead are tears. The moment he tastes the salty water on her cheek, her words penetrate the fog of lust that comprises his brain.

"I don't know…I don't know what to do. I'm lying to Chase. To my boyfriend, who loves me. Because of you. I'm turning into a cheater, but I've wanted this, you, us, for so long, and now… I don't know what to do. This isn't me; this can't be me. I don't know who I am anymore. But I can't _not_ be with you."

He pulls back, horrified. When he looks down upon her tear stained face, it hits him. While he is feeling some complicated combination of lust, affection, and maybe even love, she is feeling despair. Guilt. He's breaking her. Ruining the goodness in her, just as he knew he would when he first balled up his feelings for her all those years ago, and shoved them to the darkest corner of his heart.

He was right then. He's wrong now.

Wilson's words from the previous evening echo through his mind. _"She's a human being, not a toy…As soon as you get your way and she leaves Chase, you'll be bored and she'll be left in pieces on the floor."_

He needs to put an end to this. Now.

Wordlessly, he lets go of her and takes a step back. She looks up at him, confusion written plainly on her face. He can almost hear her thoughts aloud. _I was giving in, why are you stopping? _

"I win," he says simply. "Game over. Go home, Cameron."

He limps around her, opens the glass door and goes out onto the balcony. Resting his forearms against the rails, he hangs his head, closes his eyes and counts slowly to fifty. It's better this way, he tries to convince himself. She'll be hurt, sure, but she has Chase to pick up the pieces for her. And more importantly, she has her self-respect. Her integrity. Better to break her heart now, than have her wake up six months or a year from now and realize she's made the biggest mistake of her life. And hate him for it. Not because leaving Chase would be such a bad move, but because compromising all she is and all she values, would be the end of her. She means too much to him to let her do that.

When he turns around again, his office is empty.

Slowly, feeling every one of his forty-nine years, he limps back into the office and drops into his chair. He pulls a vial of Vicodin out of his desk drawer, along with a bottle of bourbon. He's not going anywhere else tonight.

_**A/N: Please don't hate me. Heh.**_


	12. Chapter 12

**Into Temptation, Chapter 12**

The day she lost her husband was by far the worst day of Cameron's life. She prays to the god she doesn't believe in that she never has to endure that kind of hell on earth again. Nothing she has experienced before or since has even been on the same level. Until now. She can't, in good conscience, claim that this _thing_ with House is as bad as that, but the fact that the pain she's experiencing was intentionally inflicted makes it, in some ways, even worse. No lives had been lost this time; she'd walked away from House's cruel little game still alive. Alive, but not well. Not even close.

After she left House's office that night, she went home, locked her door, turned off her phone, and crawled into the bottom of a bottle of vodka. Head pounding and stomach rolling, she called in sick the following morning. Cuddy seemed to believe her, and Chase, well, at least he pretended to. She was scheduled to be off the next two days anyway – a lucky break as it took her the entire three days to pull herself together enough to leave the apartment.

It's raining again - not heavily enough that she needs her windshield wipers, but not lightly enough that she doesn't. It seems as if it's been raining non-stop for weeks now, though she knows that's not really the case. Easing off on the gas, she flicks on her signal light, preparing to turn into the hospital parking lot.

She knew, _she knew_, he could be heartless. He'd been playing out his sadistic games at others' expense for as long as she'd known him. And while he's a pro at knowing just which thread to pull to make a person unravel, that particular talent had never been used against her. He'd hurt her before, yes, but it hadn't been solely for his amusement. Her feelings had merely been collateral damage to some other grand scheme, or quest for knowledge, or in the case of their date, his misguided attempt to do what he thought was best for the both of them. She thought she was special, that he'd never purposefully set out to break her as she'd seen him do to others. Plainly, as she now knows, she's not.

She pulls into the doctors' parking lot, holding her breath as she approaches his designated spot. No motorcycle, no beat-up old Dodge, no shiny red Corvette. Just an empty spot with a chipped blue square painted in the middle of it. She should be relieved.

She's not.

For reasons she can't even fathom, the sight of his empty parking space prompts her to keep right on driving. The idea of catching up on paperwork has suddenly lost its appeal. She turns left out of the parking lot, heading towards the Golden Arches a couple of blocks away, but when she reaches them she keeps going, not really hungry after all.

Her mind drifts to Chase. He'd been good about giving her space over the last couple of days, but he has to know something is wrong. If this whole thing with House has taught her anything, it's that she's been kidding herself when it comes to him. If their relationship had truly been solid, if she really loved him the way she should've, House wouldn't have been able to get to her in the first place. That first night, when he claimed she wouldn't be able to resist if he tried to seduce her, she would have laughed in his face and that would have been the end of it. He wouldn't have sensed her fears and doubts and set out prove his point, no matter the cost.

Her building suddenly looms up in front of her, and she can't really remember how she's gotten here. Pulling into her customary spot, she kills her engine. Without even having consciously thought about it, she has finally made a decision. This decision, the one that should be the most difficult, is actually pretty easy. She doesn't love Chase; she has to let him go. It's the right thing to do. Pulling out her cell phone, she punches in the number from memory.

"Chase? Hi. Where are you? We need to talk."

* * *

That should have been harder, she muses some time later as she prepares for bed. After all, they'd been together for some time. Shouldn't she feel something? Something other than sadness at having to hurt someone she cares for? Something other than relief? He certainly had. Anger. Hurt. Jealously. Oh yes, jealousy, but she'd been prepared for that. Had a little speech all ready, rehearsed in the car on the drive to his apartment. _This has nothing to do with House._ And really, it didn't. Certainly not in the way Chase thought it did. It had to do with her and no one else.

Pulling back her sheets and blankets, she climbs into bed. It was the right thing to do, even if it means she's alone now. She reaches over to flick off the light and then fluffs up her pillow before laying down her head.

There's nothing left to keep her in Princeton, she realizes suddenly, as she lies there in the dark. She could move home. Be closer to her family. Her brother and sister-in-law would probably put her up for awhile until she found a new position. They'd most likely even welcome some help with the kids. Maybe she'd even take some time off before she started the job hunt. Volunteer to keep the kids during the day while Evan and Amanda were at work. She could take them to the park every day, and out for ice cream, and to the movies. Do kids that young like movies? She's not sure. She should know these things about her own niece and nephew. It makes her sad that she's missed so much of their lives.

She yawns, rolls over, and curls into the fetal position, pulling the blankets up tighter around herself and closing her eyes.

Maybe, after awhile, she could start working at the local hospital. Or start her own practice. Maybe get back into Immunology. She could do anything, really. Even go back to school and start a whole new career that has nothing to do with medicine or doctors or…

Well anyway, something completely new, with no reminders of what's over and done.

She falls asleep feeling, if not exactly optimistic, at least more at ease than she's felt in weeks. There are some difficult decisions ahead of her to be sure, but maybe, just maybe, she might make it through this.


	13. Chapter 13

**Into Temptation, Chapter 13**

"You're all idiots. Get the hell out," he shouts at his useless underlings, and they scamper off like scared rabbits. Except for the long-term one he can't seem to get rid of no matter what he does. That one just gives him a _screw you_ smirk, shakes his head, and saunters away. Turning back to his white board, he attempts to refocus on the lists of symptoms and conditions ruled both in and out that are written there.

It's an easy case. He's known the answer almost from the start. But since the patient's in no danger and only minimal discomfort, it was the perfect learning opportunity for the young'uns. And more importantly, sending them off on a wild goose chase provided a distraction for him. Or that was the plan anyway. It's not working very well.

These last few days have been hellacious, with him second guessing himself into near insanity. At first, he was just never going to think about it, or her, ever again. But then, the night after the night he broke her heart, he got drunk and caved, letting Wilson in on what happened. His friend's insistence that he did the right thing, though probably in the wrong way and definitely way too late, didn't help at all.

He watched her arrive that morning from a window high above the parking lot. Glancing at his watch, he wonders how long he'll last before he wanders downstairs for a glimpse of her. Just to look. He'll make sure she doesn't see him.

"So can I assume from all the shouting and the scurrying away of various subordinates that you've heard about Cameron?" Cuddy asks from the doorway. The suddenness of her appearance makes him jump. Because she _startled_ him. _Not_ because of the name she just invoked.

Without turning around he replies, "No, what about her?"

"She broke up with Chase…"

He sucks in a breath, something suspiciously like hope blooming in his chest. Could it be? He made the grand gesture of letting her go, and what does she do? She breaks up with Chase anyway? What's that maudlin old saying? If you love someone, set them free? So she hadn't come back to him per se, but the same principle could apply…

"…and she asked if I would be willing to write her a letter of reference. I assumed she would have asked you as well. She's thinking of moving. She mentioned wanting to be closer to her family." Cuddy sounds very nearly apologetic.

He can almost hear the weed whacker chopping off that blooming flower that had been his hope. She's leaving? He tosses his black marker in the general direction of the conference table and strides rapidly toward the door.

Cuddy jumps back out of the way just in time. One small part of his mind can hear her calling after him, but the majority of it has only one focus. Cameron. Can't. Leave.

* * *

He locates the object of his pursuit behind the nurses' station in the emergency room. Flipping idly through a chart, she pauses here and there to write. She's wearing her usual pink scrubs over a dark long-sleeved shirt, with her hair tied back in a messy ponytail, no makeup to speak of, and dark circles under her eyes. She looks breathtakingly beautiful.

Reduced to lurking around a corner like some kind of pervy stalker, he's not sure how or even _whether_ to approach her. His non-plan only went so far as finding her.

There are a number of options presenting themselves and he ponders which one would have the best chance of allowing him to achieve his goal. He could walk up to her and start a conversation as if _that night_, or even as if the last couple of weeks had never happened. Attempt to rewind the clock to easier times. Or, he could tell her it was all some kind of joke and he can't believe she fell for it, and hey, how 'bout they go get a drink. Or, maybe, he could try a sincere apology along with an explanation for his behavior.

No, that would never work. Option number one it is.

He emerges from behind the corner and approaches her. He's around the desk and leaning on his elbows next to her before she notices him, involved as she is in her work.

"Hey," he says with feigned nonchalance.

She glances at him quickly and he can tell from the set of her jaw and the flash in her eyes that option number one probably isn't going to work. She turns back to her chart without comment.

He clears his throat. "So…" he says drumming his fingers on the counter to the tune of Buckcherry's _Sorry_. It had been playing in the car that morning and he hadn't been able to rid himself of it since. _I'm sorry about all the things I said to you… _Idiotic song.

She glares meaningfully at his hands and he stops tapping, straightens up, and stuffs his left hand in the pocket of his jeans. "So, I hear you broke up with Chase."

"It's none of your business, House," she says quietly, but firmly.

"Maybe not. Probably not. But…" He falters when she raises a hand to stop him.

"Don't," she says, speaking a little louder now, though not yet loud enough to draw attention. "I don't know what kind of game you're playing now and I don't want to. Just leave me the hell alone."

With that, she closes the file she was working on and walks away.

He blows out a frustrated breath. Okay, so she's going to make him work for it. Fair enough, given the situation. She has no idea he was just trying to do the right thing. He could, of course, just tell her that, but he'd prefer not to if there's any way around it.

She's really not leaving him any choice. He's just going to have to start the seduction over again. He walks away, a new plan already forming in his mind.


	14. Chapter 14

**Into Temptation, Chapter 14**

"Thanks Evan, I'll keep you posted." She's still smiling as she pushes the glowing button that ends her call and tosses the phone onto the sofa. She really ought to have called him earlier. Her brother always knows exactly the right thing to say to her. He has this amazing ability to dole out the perfect combination of teasing and sound advice about her chaotic love life or dodgy career choices to drag her out of the doldrums and set her cheerfully back on her feet.

Though, she has to give herself credit – she was already well on her way to equilibrium before she even picked up the phone. After a long day at work, she should be sapped, but instead there's a lilt to her step that she hasn't felt in a long time. She's finally faced down the dragons: Chase, her job, and House, and she's still okay. She made it. And for that she is proud. Long journeys are made of small steps, she knows. And so she's decided to think of this as a beginning. A start of something new and better than what she had and what she was before.

A sudden knocking at her door has her turning around to stare at it, as though she could see right through the white washed wood to whoever is responsible for the noise. "Oh," she says aloud in surprise. She's not expecting anyone.

Walking over to her apartment door, she peeks through the peephole, seeing clear across the hall to the overly decorated door belonging to the retired couple in the apartment across from her. There doesn't seem to be anyone standing in the hallway, but _someone_ must have knocked. She pulls open the door and looks up and down the corridor. Nope, no one there now.

She's about to close the door when she notices the items laid out on the floor directly in front of her apartment. Front and centre is a huge bouquet of multicoloured roses in a large cut glass vase. To the left is a familiar looking bottle of wine and two long stemmed glasses. And to the right is a DVD case. She bends and squints in order to read the title. _The Blues Brothers. _Of course it is.

Shaking her head in disbelief, she very nearly closes the door and pretends she had never seen the offerings at all. What is he _doing_? But she can't just leave all that stuff in the hallway forever, can she? She'll have to deal with it sometime. She leans over and picks up the bouquet. Trying not to inhale any of the roses' perfume, trying not to care, she takes them into her apartment and deposits them on her coffee table.

When she turns around to go back for the remainder of the items, she finds she's no longer alone. Involuntarily jumping back in fright, her hands fly up to cover her mouth in a failed attempt to hold back the squeak that emerges.

Standing just inside the door, he holds up a crumpled brown paper bag. "I dropped the cookies in the elevator," he explains, as if he has every reason to be there. In her apartment. Uninvited. "I'm sure they're not as good as yours, but I kinda had a theme going on."

"A 'let's remind Cameron of what an idiot she was to actually trust me' theme?" she asks, bitterness seeping into her voice. "So, what, you heard I'm probably leaving and couldn't let me go without taking one last kick at the pathetic little puppy you seem to think I am." She bites the inside of her lip and wills herself not to cry.

He walks over to where she is standing and deposits the bag of cookies on the table beside the flowers. Her eyes follow his left hand as it releases the bag and then pauses to touch one soft rose petal before being stuffed in his pocket. Her eyes move then to his other hand, white knuckled on the curve of his cane, as he asks, "Is that what you think of me? That I'm the kind of guy who kicks puppies?" He's leaning heavily on the cane and staring at his feet and she can't help but think of the pain lugging all this stuff from his car to her front door must have caused him.

"I didn't used to think so," she says sadly.

His head jerks upward and he looks at her sternly. She clearly hasn't provided the answer he was hoping for. "Okay. You're mad at me. I get that. I'll even admit I deserve it. But there are things you don't understand…"

She veers from sadness to anger in a flash. How dare he! "Oh, I understand perfectly," she spits at him. "I understand you think you've broken one of your favourite playthings, so you've come here to try and patch it up so you can play with it some more. It's not going to happen. Some things can't be fixed, House. Just leave me alone."

Ignoring her outburst, he persists. "There are things you don't understand. I'm…many things." He shakes his head in something she could almost believe was regret. "But I don't kick puppies, Cameron."

She opens her mouth to argue, but finds that, as quickly as it came, all the fight has left her. Instead, she nods wearily and goes to pick up the other items still lying on the floor outside her door. Coming back in, she pushes them at him. "Here, take your stuff. I don't want it. I'll carry the flowers to the car for you if you want, but you have to leave now."

He takes them from her, one item at a time, and sets them down on the table beside the roses and the cookies. When that exercise in futility is complete, she doesn't know what else to do. She just looks from him, to the evidence of… what? her naïveté? his compulsions? …littering her coffee table, and then fixes her gaze back on him, waiting for something to happen.

"Just…" He holds his hands out, cane hooked over one wrist, palms parallel to the floor, raising and lowering his hands in slow succession – a gesture she finds oddly reminiscent of Wilson. Or perhaps not so oddly, since the other man is undoubtedly House's role model in trying to be the voice of reason. "Just listen. Sit, watch the movie with me. Have some wine and cookies. Just be with me for a little while. If, afterwards, you want to listen to my explanation – I'll give it to you. If you don't – I'll leave you alone. You can leave Princeton, or not, whatever you want, but you won't have to deal with me anymore either way." He winces and leans once again on his cane.

She looks up at him, meets his eyes, calls upon everything she knows about this man, every memory she has of every moment she has spent in his company, to try and find a reason to decline. It should be easy. Should be.

"All right," she says finally, because really, what else can she say?


	15. Chapter 15

**Into Temptation, Chapter 15**

It takes her so long to answer, that by the time she does, he's worked out exactly what she's going to say – _House, please just go. Caring about you was the biggest mistake of my life and I just want to forget the whole experience, so the last thing I'm going to do is spend any more time in your company. Good bye._

He's about to give up and leave (taking the cookies with him; she could keep the rest) when she finally speaks. "All right," she says, to his immense surprise. Maybe he doesn't know her as well has he thinks he does.

"Okay then," he says with a quick nod to cover his astonishment, and a not-quite-concealed grin.

She gifts him with a slight smile and wanders off to close the apartment door that had been left open throughout their entire exchange. He picks up the heavy bouquet of roses and transfers it from the coffee table to the kitchen counter to prevent it from blocking their view of the television. When he returns to the living room, she is seated on the couch, has the wine uncorked and two glasses poured.

He sits beside her and takes a gulp of wine before picking up the DVD case from the table in front of him. He swivels his head toward her. "Ah, you know, I brought this movie for the nostalgia factor, but we did _just_ see it. Do you have anything else?"

She rolls her eyes at him and gestures to a shelf containing a selection of DVDs. "Help yourself."

Rising, he walks over to it and starts pulling out cases at random and skimming the synopses. It doesn't really matter what they watch. He knows he's not going to be able to concentrate on it anyway.

He holds up the first one that doesn't sound nauseating - _Pirates of the Caribbean_. "Really Cameron?" he asks. "Pirates?"

She shrugs. "I like Captain Jack."

"_You_ like the irreverent and witty ne'er-do-well better than the handsome heartthrob?" Walking over to the DVD player, he hits the open button and sets the disc into the tray. "Shocker," he adds with a smirk, pushing the button again. The DVD drawer slides closed.

* * *

She watches him limp back towards her. He's getting cocky; she can tell. That little comment only confirms what she suspected would occur the instant she agreed to let him stay for awhile. He thinks he's won her over already. That the deal's all sewn up, when actually, nothing could be further from the truth. It's going to take a lot more than roguish charm, whether onscreen or standing right in front of her, to offset the memory of their last meeting.

"Only when they look like Johnny Depp," she counters, though of course it has nothing to do with looks. "Sit there," she commands as he approaches, pointing to the far end of the couch. "And none of your fancy teleporting tricks when you think I'm not looking."

He smirks and sits where he's told, but not before snatching the remote out of her hand. She glares at him, but refrains from commenting. They're watching a movie, not TV. No channel-choosing is required. She knows enough to pick her battles. Curling her fingers around her glass of wine and choosing a piece of broken cookie from the bag, she tucks her feet under her and tries to concentrate on the movie. She can't help wondering if Elizabeth Swann ever found herself fighting an unwanted attraction to Captain Jack Sparrow. She expects she probably did.

* * *

One hundred and forty three minutes later (according to the back of the DVD case), the movie ends. It has been the longest one hundred and forty three minutes of his life. He honored her request and, against his better judgment, kept to his own side of the couch. He's well aware of the effect his physical proximity has on her – has always had on her – but for some reason, he can't bring himself to use that fact to his advantage. Even though it quite likely would have enabled him to avoid explaining what had occurred the other night.

He spent the majority of the one hundred and forty three minutes trying to figure what came next. As seems to be the trend lately, he hasn't worked out in advance what exactly he's going to say to her. Assuming she was going to decide to listen. He has to believe she will. After all, why else would she have let him stay?

Does he tell her the truth? Is there any other choice? She has a finely tuned bullshit-o-meter when it comes to him - she'll know if he prevaricates. He's on thin ice as it is, and there's too much at stake here. He can't take the chance that she'll throw him out at the first whiff of a lie. He's all out of chances. This is it.

* * *

The credits roll and she feigns interest in the names of the best boy and the key grip and thinks about what happens next.

It's decision time. To listen or not to listen. She's clear on the question. It's the answer she's not too sure about. Listening is risky. He has a finely tuned ability to read people and tailor his explanations to how they are reacting. She used to think she was one of the few people who were, more or less, immune to that skill. Not completely, but more or less. Clearly she was wrong about that, like she was wrong about so many things.

_But was she?_ A little voice in the back of her mind vies for her attention. After all, he's here. He's a man who enjoys his games, who enjoys winning. But he's also a man who bores all too easily. Isn't this whole thing dragging on a little long to truly be just another game? Shouldn't he have moved on to something else by now?

She has to know.

Taking a deep breath, she reaches over and presses the red power button on the remote he's still gripping in his hand. The television falls dark and silent.

"Okay, so explain."

* * *

Explain. Now that she wants one, he finds he has no explanation. Well no, he _has_ one. He just doesn't have the words to say it. But he'll try. He has to try.

"You were crying," he mumbles. "I was kissing you, and you were crying."

"Well, yes… It was an emotional moment."

He looks over at her. He can tell from the confusion on her face that she doesn't understand what he's trying to get at. It would be so much easier if she could just get it without his having to spell it out. He doesn't know how to make her understand. He's not sure he even understands anymore. What seemed eminently logical as he was breaking her heart, no longer makes any sense at all.

She's looking at him, waiting for him to say more. He breathes in deeply, flexes his fingers around the remote in one hand, his cane in the other. Think. Find the words.

Find the words to explain how he hurt her in order to keep her from being hurt? He set out to make it known to her that she had _choices_ in life, that she could choose _him_, and then when she did, he took that choice away from her? How can he explain it to her, when it doesn't make any sense to him anymore? He knows he was trying to do the right thing. He knows this. So why does it now seem so wrong? Everything is all jumbled up.

This isn't going to work. He stands, walks to the door.

"Coward." Her voice, clear and strong, wallops him from behind.

He stops, his hand on the doorknob.


	16. Chapter 16

**_A/N: Wow is it actually going to work this time? I've been trying to post this for two days now!_**

**Into Temptation, Chapter 16**

"Coward," she calls after him. He is _not_ doing this to her. Not. From the way he began his explanation – _you were crying_ – she can tell he has something to say that she needs to hear. Will it change her mind about them? Not necessarily. But she wants to hear it. He owes her that much, damn it.

He pauses, hand on the doorknob and she rises from the couch. "If you have something to say to me, House, just say it. What are you afraid of? I thought I didn't understand. So…make me understand!" Her voice increases in volume as her frustration mounts.

"I don't know how," he mutters, still facing the door.

"You don't know? You. Don't know. And you won't even try? Who _are_ you? Where is the House who, when he doesn't know something, pushes and pushes and then pushes some more until he does?!" She's angry, very angry, but she's purposely playing it up as well. The surest way she knows to get him out from behind his mile high wall is to piss him off. Unfortunately, it's also the surest way to provoke an attack, but that's just a risk she'll have to take.

If she lets him walk out the door now, without saying whatever it was he came to say, that'll be it. It'll all be over. She'll move back home, start a new life. He'll carry on here by himself. Eventually, memories dim and details fade. Sooner or later, she'll try to recall the exact shade of his eyes and fail. The precise timbre of his voice will elude her when she thinks of things he said to her. She'll no longer be able to remember how his lips felt on hers. They'll become faded blurs to one another. Ghosts.

She's standing right beside him now, close enough that when he turns the knob and opens the door a fraction of an inch, she reaches out and forces it closed again.

* * *

_Danger, danger, danger_, sounds in his head. He has to get out of there. He can't handle this situation and he can't handle her. Not like this. Emotional outbursts are his kryptonite and he fears if he doesn't get out of there right now, bad things will happen. Very Bad Things. He has just twisted the knob and pulled, when a hand flies past him and slams it shut. He looks from the hand flat against the door, up the slender arm to which it's attached, to the pissed off face of the woman wielding it.

"Cameron, move your hand," he says, in his best _do as I say_ voice.

"No."

"Cameron…"

"No! Damn it, House! Grow the hell up and talk to me. Do you want me to leave? Because I'm going to. I'm going to leave and never come back and you'll never see me again. And it'll be your own damn fault because you're too much of a bloody coward to just say what you came to say! Is that what you want?"

He can feel the anger rising in him. She has no idea what she's saying. He's the furthest thing there is from a coward. Would a coward have let the woman who was quite possibly his last chance for happiness go because it was the best thing for _her_? Even though it was the worst thing possible for him? Before he can stop them, words are flying from his mouth.

* * *

He's looking at her like she's lost her mind. She wonders if perhaps she has. She's not a yeller, and so the fact that she _is_ yelling speaks to the seriousness of the situation. And, she supposes, to how much she still wants there to be a reasonable explanation for all that has happened.

"No, it's not what I goddamn want!" he shouts, startling her with both his words and the vehemence with which he says them. "I was trying to do the right thing for once - be the good guy. Obviously I screwed it up as usual." He closes his eyes and tilts his head skyward, gathering his thoughts, or so she presumes. She waits for him to go on.

"You were on the verge of breaking every moral code you have," he begins again a moment later, this time more quietly. "It was affecting you already - you were crying at a time most women would have been thanking their lucky stars." He gives a half smirk at his inappropriate joke.

She acknowledges it with a small smile of her own. House is House.

"I couldn't let you do that to yourself," he continues. "I know how important that insane moral compass of yours is to you and I didn't want to be the reason you compromised it. And I didn't want you to end up hating me for it. You would have, you know. Eventually."

She lets her hand drop away from the door while remaining alert for escape attempts. He's right. He's right and she knows it. She would have regretted cheating on Chase. Because she would have been ashamed of herself for breaking one of her own closely held standards, yes, but also because she would have felt that her relationship with House, assuming they went on to have one, was somehow diminished by its sordid beginning. But that would have been her cross to bear, not his. She would never have blamed him for her own failure to do the right thing and finish one relationship before beginning another.

But now she finds he's saved her from that. Maybe not in the nicest of ways, and maybe she wouldn't have required saving had he not pursued her so ardently in the first place – facts she hasn't forgotten about - but right now, right here, he's saved her from a lifetime of regret.

She takes a step forward.

* * *

Somehow, he gets it all out. He even manages to look her in the eye for some of it, just long enough to crack a lame-assed joke. And now, she's just…looking at him. Not saying anything. The suspense is killing him.

Maybe he should leave – give her some time to think about what he said. Let her come to him if she wants. Being the pursuer, it's not really him, and these last few weeks have been hard. Maybe it's her turn. And if she doesn't come? Well then he's back to that whole setting free thing. Regrettable, yes, and so much worse than that, but at least he tried. He's proud that he tried.

He's an instant away from turning around and reaching for the doorknob when she takes a step toward him. He holds his breath. And then she takes another. His heart speeds up. And another. She rests her hands lightly on his hips and rises on her tiptoes. Luckily he remembers to breathe again because then she's pressing her lips to his and his hands are in her hair and breathing is the furthest thing from his mind.

* * *

There were many times over the years that she'd known him where she thought about kissing him. Before today, there had been three times she actually had. Shortly after each of those times, for very different reasons, she had been certain it would never happen again.

The first time had simply been a means to an end, or so she had convinced herself. (A blind blood draw? Really?) But any hope of a repeat performance was quickly swallowed up by her anger when his cancer ruse was revealed.

After the second time, right here in her apartment, she despised herself for succumbing to his advances and vowed she would never again be so weak.

After the third time, he broke her heart and she knew she could never forgive him, even if he were to ask.

Wrong again. Because now, in the midst of their fourth kiss, all the ones that came before pale in comparison and this time she _knows_ there will be more. Many more. She's not going anywhere.

_**

* * *

**_

A/N: While this is pretty much the end, there will be a epilogue posted in a few days.


	17. Epilogue

**_A/N: If I didn't reply to your review of Chapter 16, it's because FF won't let me! Sorry! I appreciate all my reviewers and normally always reply, but this time a mass thank you will have to suffice :D_**

**Into Temptation, Epilogue**

He glances at his watch. Tosses his tennis ball in the air. Taps his fingers against his desk. Cranes his neck to try and see further down the hall. He's sent her five texts in the last hour, each one answered with only one word. _Working_. _Soon_. _Nearly_. _Almost_. _Stop!_ Another half an hour and he's going down there to drag her bodily from behind her desk.

His team had left hours ago – they had been without a case for the better part of a week, and all of them are taking advantage of that fact with increasingly earlier quitting times. He doesn't care. There was a time that he might have forced them to chart in order to keep them out of his hair and piss them off. But not this time. He has bigger plans for his paperwork. He expects he'll find out if it worked very soon.

She finally arrives twenty minutes later, looking tired but happy. And gorgeous. He marvels once again at whatever twist of fate had brought her into his life and given her the both the patience and skill to handle life with him.

"I'm on to you," she says with a grin, as she walks though his office door.

He returns her smile and pushes his chair back from his desk. "Not yet you're not," he says patting his lap. "But I'm open to the idea."

"I said on_ to_ you, not _on _you," she clarifies. "As in, on to your scam. I've been ordered to report here first thing Monday morning. Let's see if I've got this straight. You stop doing paperwork, so Cuddy sends me up to do it for you. Kills two birds with one stone, right? You get the pleasure of my company and you don't have to do paperwork. Win-win. Am I right?"

"Close. You forgot the third bird. You get to spend time around real doctors, which will inevitably lead to you wanting vacate the intellectual wasteland known as the ER and start practicing actual medicine again."

"And of course the only place I can do that is here with you?"

He shrugs. "Would that be so bad?"

"Well, I could come back…"

He grins. It was the first time he'd mentioned her returning to Diagnostics since they'd been together and he hadn't been expecting it to be this easy to convince her.

"But think of all the people we'd kill."

His grin disappears. "Huh? You lost me."

"Well, if I was working here…" She walks closer to him. "…we'd never get any work done." Still closer. "Because, I'd be wanting to…" She carefully lowers herself onto his lap. "…do this…" She brushes her lips against his. "…all day."

He wraps his arms around her and draws her into a longer more passionate kiss

"You do have a point," he allows a few minutes later. "But, to hell with the patients. Do you think Cuddy would pay us to fool around all day?"

"I highly doubt it," she says, dropping another quick kiss on his lips before standing up. "In fact, given the way she looks at you, she'd probably fire me."

"She won't fire you," he says in a tone that brooks no argument. He'll deal with Cuddy when and if the issue arises. He hopes she's still enough of a professional to keep her opinions to herself because he's already decided that this relationship needs to come out of the shadows as soon as possible.

"Guess who I saw today," she says, changing the subject, as she waits for him to collect his belongings. He rises and grabs his cane, jacket and backpack.

"Mick Jagger?" he asks hopefully.

Laughing she says, "Try again."

"How 'bout you just tell me."

"Caroline Landry – the little girl from the ER with the big chunk of glass in her knee and the snotty older sister."

He remembers, but shrugs anyway.

"Oh come on, you have to remember. You played video games with her? The same day you sent me flowers?"

"I remember you threw the flowers back in my face and stalked out of my office."

She gives him a hurt look and he immediately regrets his unthinking words. "House, I…"

"Did the right thing," he mutters, feeling like an idiot. "Sorry, I don't know why I say some of the things I say sometimes. I'm working on it."

"I know," she replies. And he believes she really does. She smiles and grabs his free hand. "Come on, let's go. How about we pick up a pizza on the way home."

* * *

"Tell me the truth. When did pursuing me stop being a game to you?" she asks as they enter the elevator. She's been debating asking the question for some time. He's never even confessed that it was, in fact, a game at first. But still she knows it was and she's curious enough to risk an argument by asking.

"When did it stop being a game or when did I realize it had stopped being a game?" he counters and she's relieved that he's not just going to deny the whole thing.

"Ah, both? I guess?"

"Question one – April 19, 2004." Her heart skips a beat when she realizes that's the day he interviewed her for her fellowship. The first day they met. "Question two – after I tasted your chocolate chip cookies."

"That's not all you tasted that day," she reminds him.

"Yeah, that also may have had something to do with it." He throws an arm around her, pressing a quick kiss to the top of her head and, after she turns her head to look at him, another, softer one, on her lips.

The elevator doors open to reveal Cuddy walking past, obviously about to leave for the day as well. House is a little slow in removing his arm and she squirms in needless guilt.

"House. Cameron," the other woman says, eyeing them with what looks like suspicion, but not saying anything else as the three of them proceed to the doors.

"Cuddy," he nods and she's immensely relieved that he keeps it at that.

"Good night Dr. Cuddy," she adds as they head in different directions once outside the hospital.

"I think she's getting suspicious," she whispers nervously once the other woman is out of earshot.

"Who?" he asks, looking down at her.

"Cuddy, obviously." They reach his car and she moves to walk over to the passenger side door. He grabs her arm to stop her.

"She doesn't know anything for sure yet though. Right?" he asks in a conspiratorial tone.

"Ah, no. I don't think so." She spies the mischievous look on his face just has he pulls her to him. He leans down and kisses her deeply. She tries to resist, but before too long, she forgets where they even are. She's wrapped in the arms of the man she loves and nothing else matters.

**BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!**

She jumps at the noise and tries to pull away, but he holds her tightly in place for a few seconds before finally releasing her. She looks from his honking, flashing car to the remote control in his hand to the shocked look on the face of her boss standing beside her own car, fifty or so feet away.

"I think she knows now," he says. A car door slams and an engine starts.

She can only shake her head, knowing she should be annoyed, but mostly she's just relieved the cat's out of the bag. She knows he'll handle any repercussions that may come up next week. And whatever happens, it will be worth it.

"See I told you you'd never be able to resist me," he says, slinging an arm over her shoulder.

She elbows him in the stomach and proceeds to her side of the car. He's right, of course. She never could.

The End.

_**A/N: Thanks everyone. I had a great time writing this story. **_

_**Til next time... **_

_**~everytimeyougo**_


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